


Chicken Soup for the Hitter's Soul

by BiP



Category: Leverage
Genre: Cooking Lessons, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Hardison's Nana - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiP/pseuds/BiP
Summary: A Leverage Secret Santa Story for sternenblumen. I hope you enjoy, and if you want, the recipe for this is linked at the end.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47
Collections: 2020 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





	Chicken Soup for the Hitter's Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sternenblumen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenblumen/gifts).



There are people in the house, in Eliot’s house. Even from his hazy, codeine-fogged sleep, he can hear voices. 

“Who the hell has leeks in the refrigerator? I don’t even know what a leek is!” That’s Hardison.

“Alec, just get an onion. It’ll work fine.” That’s not Parker, that’s Hardison’s Nana. 

What the hell is Nana doing here? He should - and as he starts to move, the pain comes roaring back into his ribs and his head. Okay, then. He’ll just get up - in a minute...

Next time Eliot wakes up, it’s the doorbell. It’s Parker who answers it. She pays someone, thanks them, does the small chat that she’s become so good at. Makes her disarming. She makes a great leader. What’s she ordering in, though? There was food in the fridge. He should get up and make some. He’s definitely still fuzzy - wasn’t Nana here earlier? Why was Nana here? He definitely needs to get up. 

He drifts again, a moment. Maybe three or four moments. Voices again. 

“So now, just take all the meat off of that chicken and set it aside. Wrap about half and put it in the fridge, you can do something else with it later, you don’t need it now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Once you’ve got that done, take all of those bones and bits and put them in that infernal pot of yours, with about 4 cups of chicken broth, or water if you don’t have broth, and about half that onion, a carrot, and the leafy tops of that celery.” 

Eliot agrees with Nana, the instant pot is evil and nothing beats a truly slow-cooked stock, but Hardison has never met a kitchen gadget he didn’t have to try at least once. He gets deliveries from fancy kitchen shops every week, takes them through their paces, and half the time gives them away on Buy Nothing because Eliot gives him a stink-eye every time he tries to get them out. The instant pot has actually stayed longer than any of the others, and Eliot tolerates it because sometimes he really does need to be able to cook a meal in 30 minutes that isn’t something heated from a can. 

Anyway, what the hell is going on in his kitchen? He can hear them fucking around, messing up his  _ mise en place _ , using his knives. It’s killing him more than the pain in his broken ribs. 

“Dammit, Hardison!” he yells, wincing at the bite in his side. “Stop chopping like that, you’re going to ruin the tang and if it comes off in your han-” 

That’s as much as he can get out before he feels like he’s been punched again. Punched with a truck. A big truck. 

Hardison does NOT show up in the doorway to his room; Parker does. 

“How do you even know what we’re doing?” she asks, taking advantage of his lack of breath. “And what do I need to do to get you to take another pain pill?” She’s got a glass of water in one hand, so you know there’s a pill somewhere. 

“It’s-” he gasps, then gets control of his breathing by sheer willpower. “It’s a very distinctive sound. And no. Nana’s here, I can’t be lying here all day.”

Parker comes into the room, sets down the water, but not the pill. “She’s not here, she’s on video chat so she can tell Hardison what to do. It’s pretty funny.”

He imagines it is. “Oh. Well, I still-”

“No. You need to rest. You got hurt really bad.” Parker has on her far-away voice, the one that makes her sound about six years old, and Eliot is incapable of telling her no when she uses it. 

“Half. I’ll take half.”

“Deal!” She beams at him, and snaps the pill in her hand in two pieces. After he’s swallowed it, she helps him up to the bathroom (he stopped being fussy about that a long time ago), and it feels good to be upright even for a few minutes, and slightly cleaner. Then, instead of back to bed, she maneuvers him into the living room, with an eyeline to the kitchen, “since you’re being reasonable.”

“Great, just great,” Hardison grumbles. “Now I’m gonna get it from both of you.” Eliot can tell he doesn’t mean it, especially since while he’s griping he’s also bringing Eliot a cup of tea, and running a hand through his hair. It feels good. Eliot does  _ not _ lean into it. 

“Alec!” Nana chides over the video, in a tone that means  _ I would swat you on the back of the head if I could reach you _ . “You be nice to him. Hello, Eliot, honey. Alec and Parker said you got hurt, so I’m walking Alec through making some soup for you.” 

And Eliot can smell it even better now that he’s in the kitchen. A good, rich, chicken stock smell; he feels better just breathing it in. 

“Where were you?” he asks. 

“Stock’s just finished, so now we’re putting things together,” Nana says. “Alec, what’s next?”

“Now, I - uh, strain off the stock, and put it into the stovetop pot with those vegetables, and add rice, except I don’t like rice so we’re gonna use orzo.” 

“Orzo works just fine. Since when don’t you like rice?” Nana asks, surprised. 

Parker hops up on the counter across from where Hardison is working so that she can see Nana. “Since we did a job in New Orleans and there were these-”

Both Eliot and Hardison yell in unison, “Parker, no,” Eliot with a wince, although not as bad. Parker was right about those meds. 

“But Nana-”

“No,” says Eliot. 

“Girl, I gotta eat. Don’t taint this.” Hardison begs. 

Nana laughs. “Parker, you can tell me about it later when these squeamy boys aren’t around.” 

While they’ve been talking, Hardison has been straining the stock, getting the pot boiling, adding the chicken and the orzo. 

“Okay, now the tricky part,” Nana says. “Take two eggs, put them in a bowl, and whisk them up with the juice of about half a lemon.”

“That’s not tricky,” Hardison huffs. 

“Alec.” It’s That Voice again. 

“Yes ma’am.”

“Now, you keep whisking and put in a cup or two of that hot broth into it, and don’t stop whisking. You stop whisking or just dump this into the pot, you’re gonna get a pot full of chicken and scrambled egg.” 

“Oh, okay, that’s trickier.”

Parker laughs so hard at that that she snorts. Eliot would but it hurts too much. 

“Once that looks smooth and a little thick, you take the pot off the heat, and then stir this into the soup; it should get all nice and creamy looking.” 

Eliot holds his breath - avgolemono  _ can _ be tricky, Nana’s not wrong - but Hardison whoops as the soup becomes silky under his hand. 

“Thank you, Nana!” he says, once again sure he can do absolutely anything. Dammit, he’s usually right, too. 

“Any time, Alec. I’m glad to see you interested in doing something that’s not behind a computer screen.” 

Hardison snorts. “You’re on a screen right now.”

“You know what I mean. Parker, you call me later and tell me about New Orleans. Eliot, you take care and rest!”

A chorus of “yes ma’am” goes around the room, and Hardison brings Eliot a bowl of soup and some of the fresh bread he had made the day before. 

It’s good. It tastes like love. 

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.themediterraneandish.com/avgolemono-soup-recipe/


End file.
